


Isolation

by FlyAway_33



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 2020, ADHD, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Depression, Fluff, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pandemic - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyAway_33/pseuds/FlyAway_33
Summary: Modern setting: the boys cope with the struggles of life quarantined together.
Relationships: John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor
Comments: 86
Kudos: 80





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> DISCALIMER: this is a work of fiction and any recognizable names and situations are purely fictionalized. 
> 
> If you’re sensitive to the pandemic in any way, maybe skip this one. I don’t want to offend anyone but we all cope in different ways and my mechanism just happens to be fan fiction. This fic is not meant to make a joke of anything going on, but I know some people could take some of it the wrong way and I just want to be clear that it is not my intention to make a joke out of coronavirus. It is a serious thing, and this fic is only a glimpse into how I picture these fictionalized characters coping in this setting. The characters and events of this story are completely fictionalized.
> 
> NOTES BEFORE YOU READ:  
> * The etsy shop is based off of Freddie and Roger’s Kensington Market stall  
> * Roger being Freddie’s confidant is based off of Roger being the only one who know’s Freddie’s meaning behind Boh Rhap (don’t remember where I read that, also varies by interview), and being the one Freddie discussed his experience with boarding school with (from an unreleased interview with rog some years after Freddie’s death).  
> * Sometimes I write Roger pronouncing things in a weird way. That’s my attempt at conveying Cornish accent. I based the spellings on Hagrid’s speech from Harry Potter. I am not British so all my British accent knowledge is from reading and watching Harry Potter. I also watched one video on Cornish accents because I thought rog sounded like a pirate in some videos and I was curious. Obviously his accent isn’t as thick as Hagrid’s but some of the spellings work for conversational speech so let’s do this thing!  
> * I am American so parts of their experience blend more with what’s been going on in the U.S. than Britain, but I did google what people in the UK are allowed to do. Just bear with me, please, its a fanfic after all. So uh, historical inaccuracies for current events? Is that a thing? Is March 2020 already history or is that just 3 months ago? I DON’T LIKE BEING IN A HISTORICAL EVENT MAKE IT STOP.

Freddie was at his school’s art studio when the news came over the radio playing softly in the corner. A handful of heads turned in its direction and a voice barked out for someone to turn it up when the breaking news tone had sounded. A TV news program’s audio was being casted through the major radio stations. Every artist in the studio felt their heart drop when the words the country had been simultaneously begging for and dreading came through the small, clay and paint spattered speakers in the prime ministers voice: “From this evening I must give the British people a very simple instruction - you must stay at home.”

They knew it had been coming for some time, though it felt so unreal: The first news bits out of China hadn’t seemed all that threatening, but as the coronavirus swept through Eastern Europe like wildfire, displaying a vast range of unpredictable symptoms and effects, fear began to settle into the hearts of Londoners. The surreality of it all shocked many. Like The Boy Who Cried Wolf, memories of unnecessary news hysteria over swine flu, ebola, and zika caused many to sweep concerns for this one under the rug. Schools and businesses hadn’t closed down due to the other supposed pandemics— which in summation sounded much more dangerous than the simple cold that coronavirus sounded like— so why worry? 

No one ever thought they’d see the day where the world shut down over a disease outbreak. What is this, the eighteenth century? No, it’s 2020. They have modern medicine and technology to prevent this, right? Well, evidently, the world was much too cocky, and The Boy Who Cried Wolf turned out to be a valuable lesson no one had heeded.

A nervous lump rose in Freddie’s throat as he looked down at the drawing he’d been working on and his eyes flitted to his phone and back. Should he call his bandmates? No, he needed to gather his stuff and get the hell home. He lived with his bandmates in a small two bedroom flat, and it seemed as though they’d be stuck together anyway. He was sure they’d hear the news on their own. 

Freddie quickly went through his mental list of art and design supplies he might need over the next several days. He and Roger ran an eclectic Etsy shop on which they sold vintage clothes, dishes, artwork, and jewelry, along with some of Freddie’s own prints and handmade jewelry. Freddie was the producer and Roger with his keen eye for detail was the public liaison, as he created eye-catching listings, handled corresponded with customers, and ran the shop’s social media accounts. Freddie and Roger made a great team, as long as Roger could keep the shop running smoothly and attract sales, Freddie would keep finding and creating. He had materials at home, but mostly he used equipment such as copy machines and light boards at the university’s studio, as his tuition to the design program paid for its use anyway. What he really needed to do was figure out what supplies to gather now, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop on one course of action. There were just too many things to think of! He just needed to head home. With Roger’s help they’d be able to gather their thoughts enough to analyze their situation, and Freddie tried to push the thought of needed materials out of his mind.

There was no way in hell Freddie would be using public transit after an announcement like that. Even though he didn’t really fear catching the virus, he feared the swaths of people flooding the systems during this impromptu rush hour. It would easily be a 20 to 30 minute walk home, but it was better than being crammed onto a dirty tube with other sweaty, panicking locals.

Freddie scooped his materials and belongings into his bag and swung it over his shoulder, only leaving his phone out which he would carry in his hand, waiting anxiously for calls and texts from family or flatmates. He hoped the long walk would help clear his head, though he could only imagine the states Brian, John, and Roger would be in by the time he came round. The chaotic conglomeration of depression, anxiety, and occasional mania that manifested itself between the four flatmates was sure to make this situation interesting.

Brian occasionally went through bouts of depression. Sometimes it was triggered by something going on in his life and sometimes it was completely random, but either way it didn’t affect just him. His friends could tell when he was having a hard time and it often caused them stress. Freddie and Roger were like golden retrievers trying their best to make him feel better 24/7, which would inevitably cause him to snap at one or both of them. At least John would leave him alone.

On the surface, John seemed more reserved than the others, but at home in the flat he was very opinionated and rarely held back his opinions. He often got fed up with the others, especially when they argued or were being obnoxious in any way, and had once made Brian cry in the studio.

Roger was… well he was Roger. An energetic spitfire with strong opinions and the attitude of a bull. Underneath all that was a side of him he didn’t often show even to his closest friends: a deep-seated anxiety that kept him moving and thinking constantly. He often joked that he didn’t know how to relax, but insomnia really did keep him tossing and turning most nights. Like Brian he went through periods of time where he couldn’t focus on anything to save his life, times where he would veg out on the couch or in bed lost in his own jumbled and racing thoughts. But he also experienced periods of near-manic productivity where he couldn’t slow himself down if he tried. Roger was an enigma, one who was only really seen by Freddie.

Freddie was the mother hen, handling all of Brian’s melancholy, John’s sass, and Roger’s unrest; all on top of his own deep, guarded, and complex mind. Any of the boys could come to Freddie for whatever emotional support they needed but Freddie only really felt comfortable confiding his own troubles with Roger. The drummer knew all his deepest, darkest secrets. It wasn’t that he couldn’t trust the others, he’d trust them with his life, but Roger just understood— or at least made the effort to understand in a way that no one else could. Freddie just felt safe with him, and together they found camaraderie and never-ending support from each other. 

The walk felt twice as long as usual. Right now, Freddie longed for the comfort and familiarity of his bandmates. He longed for the distraction that comforting them would bring him, and he quickened his pace as he thought of doting on Brian and cuddling with Roger as John looked on, teasing them. None of them had texted him, though he had received a snapchat of Roger making a face with the caption “When your bio profs were right all along”. He didn’t respond, knowing Rog had probably sent it to his whole friends list. He got a text from his mum asking where he was and what his plans were, to which he replied that he was on his way back to his flat on foot to lockdown with his flatmates. What a strange world, he thought. Never would he have expected to have to do this, to be legitimately quarantined. 

Finally he arrived at the tenement and was quick to jog up the stairs without pausing to check the mail as he normally did. He didn’t know who would be home yet. In Roger’s snapchat he had appeared to still be in class and Brian should still be teaching his maths course. Did Deaky have class on Mondays? Freddie unlocked the door to their shared flat and was surprised to find Roger already home, his large blue eyes peeking at Freddie from behind the arm of the couch where he was stretched out comfortably.

“Rog?”

“Yeah, Fred.” The blond stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Got home a few minutes ago. The bio professors were all set for this so they just told us to go home. Deaky texted me, he’s still in class, the engineering department’s scrambling to pull shite together.”

“And Bri?”

“Not sure, but since he’s a professor I’d assume he’s coming up with online work or summat.”

“Right.” Freddie shifted nervously in the entryway, unsure of if he should toe off his boots and shed his coat now, or go out to the store to stock up. He was sure everyone and their brother would be trying to stock up and he certainly didn’t want to brave those crowds. Did they have enough food for the week? Someone usually went shopping at least once a week, they were four hungry college boys after all.

“Whacha worried about?”

Freddie’s gaze snapped back into focus on the furrowed brow and concern-clouded, stormy eyes of the drummer. “Do we have food?” He asked, shakily.

“‘Course. We are still allowed to grocery shop, though.”

“Do we have stuff for the shop?”

“Dunno, we’ll figure it out.” Roger’s sure stare bore into Freddie’s and the singer could practically feel the calm radiating from the drummer and felt himself begin to calm. If Roger thought everything would be okay then maybe it would.

Freddie shed his coat and kicked off his shoes at that, deciding to just stay put and let it play out. His mind was running a million miles a minute and he knew he needed to just stop and let things settle in. They would jump the hurdles when they got to them. For now, though, he was just going to cuddle his Roger. 

Roger rolled over onto his belly as Freddie stumbled to the couch and crawled over the arm and onto his best friend, letting himself settle right on top of him. Beneath him Roger let out a groan of content and Freddie felt well-hidden tension drain from the drummer’s body. The presence of it hadn’t been noticeable from afar, but then again Rog was excellent at hiding what he was really feeling. He had always been very guarded when it came to more sensitive emotions, and his bandmates were some of the few people who really knew his soft side, but a lot of the time he still tried to hide it. 

“You doing okay?” Freddie mumbled, reaching up to thread his fingers through the blond tresses. “How are you so calm about this?”

“I’m good, honest. Trying not to think too far ahead.” That was wild for Freddie to hear— Roger was a planner, but he continued: “I’m actually excited for some free time. We can get stuff done around the house, work on stuff for the shop, write for the band, etcetera.”

“Yes, I suppose we can.” Freddie snuggled more into Roger and let himself relax as the blond flipped through the channels on the TV, uncharacteristically avoiding news channels. 

Freddie chose not to think about what the foreseeable future would look like being stuck at home with Roger, Brian, and John. He let his mind drift away and listened intently to the melody that was beginning to take shape in his head, and soon he let the warmth and comforting, steady breathing of his best friend sooth him as he relaxed in that odd state between wakefulness and sleep. 

The door suddenly banged open and the violent jump from Roger kicked Freddie’s delayed reaction into gear as he let out a yelp. Somehow the boys had been startled badly enough that they both ended up in a heap on the floor in front of the couch. Freddie straightened up to investigate the disturbance as Roger cursed angrily beside him, rubbing his arm where he’d banged it on the coffee table. Brian and John stood in the entryway arguing like loud children about God only knew what. 

“Oi!” Roger shouted shaking out his arm out as he clambered to his feet, supported by the couch. “What’re you two on about?!” 

“Well,” John began, “a certain somebody seems to think that grocery stores and petrol stations are going to be shutting down and he wants me to go panic buy with him. I’m not doing it, Brian!”

Freddie’s eyes grew huge and he swallowed harshly as he pulled himself back onto the couch. “Er, you don’t really think that would happen, do you, Bri?”

“It might!” Brian looked stricken as he strode into the living room, John hot on his heels. “If this is as serious as they say it could be, if it’s as serious as it is in Italy, they’ll have to close down all public spaces to stop the spread! Britain can’t bloody handle this!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bri.” Roger grumbled, and all eyes turned to the blond, curiously. “I mean— you’re not wrong about that stopping the spread, but shutting grocery stores down is not a possibility. There’s no way in hell the prime minister could order such a thing. More people would die from starvation or any number of unmet needs if that were to happen.”

“What if you’re the one who’s wrong? What if they shut them down anyway? We’ll be fucked if we don’t stock up.”

“We never thought we’d see school closed down because of it.” Freddie pointed out, sheepishly.

“School is one thing,” Roger argued, turning to face both Brian and Fred. “But food? Water? Medicine? Really, panic buying will only make things worse for the country. We just need to be calm and go with whatever is going on.”

“How can you be so thick? You literally study this shit, Rog!”

“Brian, I am not saying you’re wrong about the bloody science!” Roger leapt to his feet then, jaw and fists clenching, “I’m saying there is no way to just force people to exclusively stay home for the foreseeable future. People would go crazy; run out of supplies and try to steal from neighbors, commit suicide, kill each other. All of that would only create more problems!”

“He’s right, Brian,” John added, “they can’t close the grocers, and panic buying is just another fucking problem that I refuse to take part in.”

“But nothing is going to change then! What if—“

“Brian shut the fuck up!” Roger yelled, his voice cracking in distress.

Freddie could feel the tension in the room rising and could see the panic in Brian’s eyes and the anguish in Roger’s. He knew he needed to put a stop to this before they took it any further. Bri and Rog fought like a pair of angry old men and Freddie knew if they passed a certain point it could get ugly. 

“Alright. All of you.” Freddie boomed, making eye contact with each of his flatmates in turn. “What we are NOT going to do is start this lockdown off on the wrong foot. All of us need to remember that we’re a team and we will handle this. You hear me?” He made sure that they’d heard him and were backing down from the argument. In that moment he wished he had the authority to send all of them to their rooms like a mother would, but instead he simply pulled Roger back down onto the couch and into his lap and gestured for the other two to sit down in the living room.

Freddie wound his arms around Roger’s slim form, knowing that physical closeness helped ground the drummer and keep him from blowing his top as he was often prone to doing. Right now they all needed to stay calm and figure shit out. He felt the tremble of energy in the drummer’s wrists as he gently traced down his arms in a soothing gesture: the blond was riled up, an extreme change from how relaxed he’d been just minutes ago. But that’s just how Roger was: his mood flipped at the drop of a hat.

“Alright,” Freddie sighed, watching as Brian and John obediently settled into their seats, both looking slightly embarrassed. “Looks like we’re going to be in close quarters for quite a while, so let’s talk this out like adults, okay?”


	2. Productivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger has to find a way to cope with too much free time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here!! took way longer than I'd planned but such is life I guess.
> 
> Welllll I was going to try to alternate between all four of the boys in close third POV but... trying to write Deaky broke my brain. So it'll just be close third POV alternating with Freddie and Roger instead of all four. They seem to become the focus of all my fics anyway, so I hope that's not too disappointing. Don't worry, Brian and John will still be very much involved! I have plans for them...
> 
> Don't get me wrong, I love Deaky, but I just found writing him extremely difficult. I just don't think I have enough to go on.
> 
> Also-- I didn't have the energy to proofread so I apologize in advance.

The boys couldn’t believe the position they were in. How on Earth could the world really be shutting down? How on Earth were Freddie, Brian, Roger and John going to coexist in such close quarters for however long? They all loved each other like family, they trusted each other with their lives, hell they would even die for each other, but being together 24 hours seven days a week was going to be a challenge. Loving each other like brothers mean fighting like brothers.

“We cannot survive this if we’re at each other’s throats all day every day.” Freddie continued his mother-hen tirade and lounged back on the couch, pulling Roger with him and looking down his nose at the strings section of their little band. The drummer nestled on his lap was just as guilty of bickering constantly, but this specific occasion was directed at Brian and John for their bombastic entrance to the flat.

“How do you suggest we go about avoiding something that is second nature to us?” The bassist was leaned back in an arm chair, his leg resting crossed over the other and he raised his eyebrows, doubt written all over his expression, “I mean, we argue all the damn time, Freddie. How are you going to tell Brian he can’t patronize or Roger that he can’t annoy the hell out of us?”

“HEY!” Brian and Roger shouted in unison, but Freddie held up a hand to silence them, his other hand winding around Roger’s wrist to ground him

“Darling it might help if you didn’t provoke them.” The singer’s glare was incendiary as he stared Deaky down, totally unimpressed with the blatant provocation.

John shrugged, lifting his hands in surrender as Brian and Roger exchanged incredulous glances. “Well then we have to figure this shit out, mate, I don’t know if it’s going to work.” 

Freddie gazed off into space contemplatively for a moment before looking around at his bandmates. “I expect all of us, myself included, to respect each other. We can have different opinions and worries but we won’t be dragging each other down. For example, Bri if you’re worried about running out of essentials you can go shopping but you will not be taking anyone with you who doesn’t want to go. You cannot have your cake and eat it too.” 

Brian opened his mouth to protest but Roger spoke over him, quickly and purposefully moving the subject away from the guitarist. “Mutual respect, that sounds like the gist of it all, right? John, I suppose I’ll do my best not to annoy you then.” The drummer scowled at the bassist before standing and flipping his shaggy blond hair over his shoulder dramatically. “Speaking of which, I’ll make myself scarce. Call if you need me.”

“Darling with your hearing? We’d have to bloody scream.” Freddie teased, smacking the drummer’s butt playfully. 

Roger rolled his eyes passively, lamely swatting back at Freddie before heading out of the room, uncharacteristically subdued. Normally he was in the front and center of every band or flat discussion making his point known, but he didn’t have the energy.

***

Week 2 of lockdown

The familiar and obnoxious beeping of an iPhone alarm snapped Roger out of his deep sleep. He squinted his eyes open, glaring at the ceiling as though it had deeply offended him. 

“Damnit, Rog!” Freddie grumbled from the other bed. “Its bloody quarantine why the hell is your alarm still on?”

Roger didn’t respond but rather tapped his alarm off and rolled out of bed. A dull headache assaulted him as he tried to get his body up and moving, so he shoved his glasses onto his face before deciding not to hang around the irritable singer and trudging out into the hallway and into the bathroom. Brian and John’s door was unsurprisingly still closed, no sound coming from within. What a boring start to quarantine; evidently no one else was trying to save their sleeping pattern so he was all alone for breakfast. He had expected Brian to be up, at least. 

He blinked around as he wandered into the kitchen and shuffled around to make his coffee. He racked his brains for an idea of what he could busy himself with. He had a lot he could get done; school work, cleaning, writing, creating. What could he possibly start with?

But first, coffee. 

Roger let his eyes wander over every random thing as he relaxed in a spindly kitchen chair. Hm. A broken cabinet handle here, dirty countertops there, and loads of laundry everywhere. Yes, there was a lot he could do. A lot that could benefit his flatmates as well. Where to begin? 

Once his mug was filled with a pleasant ratio of sugar to coffee, he moved on into the living room, eyes sweeping over the surroundings. It could sure use some tidying; blankets (mostly belonging to him) lying askew, abandoned plates (Brian’s), empty mugs (mostly Freddie’s), and crumbs (John’s) cluttered the small space. The couches and antique rug Freddie had scored for cheap were looking rather dingy as well. Dust littered every hard surface and, now that he thought of it, it didn’t smell too pleasant in there either.

With a heavy sigh, Roger took a chug of his coffee before setting it on an end table and going around to fold and arrange the three blankets. He straightened the throw pillows before stooping to collect the dishes that littered the area. He paced back to the kitchen and dumped them in the already full sink, feeling sparks of energy and motivation hit him; there was so much to do, and for once, time to do it!

He got to work on the dishes right away, smiling and humming to himself as he formulated a plan. Kitchen first, then dusting, then vacuuming. Yes, he’d get stuff done today. The flat would be spotless by lunchtime. He wouldn’t be wasting all this free time.

The clanking of dishes eventually drew Brian out of his cave, and he shuffled into the kitchen with a dramatically loud yawn. “Aye, Roggie. Think you could keep it down— Do my eyes deceive me?” The lanky guitarist gasped theatrically as he discovered the scene in the kitchen. “Roger Taylor is washing the dishes?”

Roger rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Good morning to you, too, Bri.”

Brian chuckled in response and sat in the seat Roger had been occupying earlier. “Mornin’ Rog. Mind putting a kettle on while you’re over there?”

The drummer shot him a glare but did as asked anyway. After all, Brian without his morning tea was not something he wanted to deal with. He didn’t plan on letting anything dull his sunshine today, and it was just easier to help Brian get on with his slow morning than it was to cause an argument over something that took five seconds.

Putting the kettle on reminded the drummer of his own abandoned coffee, so he scurried into the living room to retrieve it, and returned back to the sink, overjoyed when he found it still warm. He threw back the rest of the delicious liquid before adding his mug to the sink and continuing his work. The feeling of motivation was awesome, and though he wasn’t sure why it had come on full force, he was grateful for the distraction.

“Mornin’” John grumped, entering the kitchen slowly and taking a seat beside Brian. “Roger what on earth…?”

“I’m trying to be productive!” The blond exploded, whipping around, clutching whatever utensil he’d been cleaning in his hand. “It’s not that bloody rare for me to fucking clean!”

“I was just joking, mate,” Deaky defended, his voice firm and slightly frightening. “Put the bloody fork down and get on with it then! Sheesh.”

Roger’s cheeks went bright red from a combination of frustration and embarrassment and he turned back to the sink, busying himself once more. He made sure to slam just about every non-breakable item as hard as he could into the drying rack with direct intent to annoy the hell out of his flatmates.

“What is all this bloody racket for?!” 

Roger turned slowly this time, meeting the eyes of a fuming Freddie.

“Roger Meddows Taylor, stop acting like a bloody child!”

“But Fred!”

“Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Roger was done. He violently threw a plastic cup into the sink producing a loud thunk and turned on his heel, stomping out of the kitchen. He had just been trying to be helpful! Just trying to do something that needed to be done! Why did they have to tease him all the time? Sure, Roger wasn’t innocent, as he did his fair share of teasing, but sometimes the things the boys said to him and about him made him rethink their respect for him. 

The drummer raged into the living room and aimed a hard kick at the corner of the sofa, letting out a string of curses under his breath when a blaze of pain erupted through his foot. He felt like he could cry from frustration (and pain, damn his own temper), but he steadied himself by gripping the back of the couch and forcing a few slow, deep breaths. 

“You’ll be fine,” he mumbled to himself, attempting to quell the new wave of anger that washed over him as he picked up on a wave of laughter from the kitchen. 

What had he planned next on his agenda? Ah yes, dusting then vacuuming. The duster just happened to be under the sink in the kitchen, so he skipped that and settled on vacuuming. The living room floor was a mess with scraps of paper, odd strings, dust bunnies, and the whole was littered with stray strands of luscious rockstar hair of every color. He crinkled his nose at the thought. Yes, vacuuming certainly needed to happen. 

Roger shuffled over to the hall closet and began wrestling with the ancient canister vacuum, which had belonged to his mother before she bought a new one, in attempt to extract it. It took him a few minutes, but he got it plugged in and started on his and Fred’s room, trying to distract himself by letting his mind roam as he worked. 

It was actually rather soothing, vacuuming. Roger even got halfway into Brian and Deaky’s room before the machine suddenly died. In slight annoyance, he flipped the switch on the handle several times and smacked it with his palm. When it failed to restart, he didn’t even have the energy to throw a fit. 

“Bastard,” he groaned, sinking dramatically to his knees beside the canister. 

After a moment of staring at the thing in defeat he felt hands on his shoulders and Freddie’s sickly sweet voice sounded in his ear. “What’s the matter, darling?”

“The bloody thing died. Me mum’s going to kill me.”

“It didn’t die, lovie.”

“What do you mean it didn’t die? It won’t bloody start!” Roger shouted, indignantly turning to face the singer as anger heated his cheeks once more. 

“Did you check the cord?” Freddie hummed, unfazed as he reached over and gave the power cord a light tug. It flopped loosely and a tapping sound at the other end indicated that it was indeed unplugged. “You have it plugged in our room, Rog, it doesn’t reach all the way in here.”

Embarrassment fueled the second pulse of anger that traveled through the drummer and he kept to his feet, cursing like a sailor. An unwelcome voice in his head shouted that of course it was something so simple! He couldn’t do anything right! Of course Freddie could solve it in a half-second! This would just be one more reason for his flatmates to consider him useless.

He didn’t notice a tear of frustration sliding down his cheek until Freddie wiped it away with his thumb. “It’s not a big deal, Roggie. How about we go have a talk, hmm?”

“I don’t want to.” The drummer hissed through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll help you with the chores after, I just want to talk real quick, okay? Let’s go to our room.” The singer wrapped his hand around Roger’s bony wrist and gently pulled him toward their room, effectively abandoning the vacuum until further notice. Something about Freddie’s tone and grip told Roger he didn’t have a choice. 

“That’s it, love.” Freddie settled Roger down on his bed and climbed up to sit in front of him so that they were sitting cross-legged on it, facing each other. “Now, tell me what’s going on with you today?”

Roger let out a puff of air and studied the fading scars on his knuckles he’d earned from drumming. He couldn’t practice actual drums in their multi-flat tenement and time away from the kit was washing the marks away. “I need something to do.”

“I get that, but why are you so high strung today?”

“I’m honestly not sure.”

“Are you okay, love?”

The drummer’s stuttering sigh with a hand shakily passing through his hair answered Freddie’s question well enough, but the emotional dam had already cracked. “I dunno. I feel like I need to do something. I need to have plans, I need to make something of this damned lockdown but I don’t know how. And I know it shouldn’t but everyone making fun of me is making me feel useless. Like everything I do is worthless. I need purpose, Freddie.” Teary blue eyes met kind brown ones, searching desperately for affirmation. This was a side of Roger rarely seen. But then again this was a rare situation. 

“Oh, doll,” Freddie breathed, reaching out and catching the hand Roger was still nervously dragging through his hair and holding it gently in both of his. “You know we would never intentionally hurt you like that. We were just taking the piss, as always.”

“I know that Freddie, I can normally take it and dish it out twice as harsh, but it hits different right now. I don’t know why.”

“We’re all experiencing some quite intense anxiety right now. You’re under a lot of pressure. Just try to relax, okay?” Freddie’s voice was gentle and understanding shone in his eyes. “Now, if you have to cope by doing something, then let’s go do something.”

Roger raised his brow incredulously. “It doesn’t take two to vacuum.”

“Then give me something to help with. I want to help you feel better.”

“Hmm,” the drummer pretended to think for a moment. “You could finish up those dishes the three of you so kindly interrupted!”

Freddie laughed, clapping his blond friend on the back. “Bastard!”


	3. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to adapt to life in quarantine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally gave up on writing correct POV types so just have this jumbled mess of third person. Fuck it, this is fanfiction not New York’s bestsellers list. 
> 
> With this being a modern AU comes modern acceptance of mental disorders so in this story Roger struggles with ADHD, and this chapter will touch on that. Future chapters will include Brian’s depression, Deaky’s and Roger’s anxiety (though in different forms), etc. and how they affect the whole group during isolation.
> 
> HUGE shoutout to KayomiKitten on here for being a great friend and writing buddy. If you like my fics you'll love her's!
> 
> Also— so British English use of the IMPROPER noun “hospital” pisses me off. I did my best to accommodate it. Carry on.

Week 4 of lockdown

Four weeks into quarantine found all four flatmates in sour moods. This was not a fun time in the band’s household at all. Along with he fact that they were stuck together 24/7, it was the week before finals and almost everyone was having a hard time, even Freddie who was the only one not studying a difficult science. 

Freddie struggled with procrastination and always found himself rushing to get his online school work done before the due date, or would be emailing professors apologizing profusely and asking for extensions. John and Roger struggled with not having the hands-on lab sessions they were used to, as they both learned by doing things, so without circuits and wires for John, and without specimens and experiments for Roger they were both having a really hard time with their assignments. Brian seemed to be the only one totally at peace with online school. He had his own telescope for his astronomy classes and learning physics formulas through slides and presentations was very similar to the way his professors taught in person anyway. It wasn’t much of a change for Brian at all, in fact, now he could do it all from the comfort of his home. 

Roger was having the hardest time out of all of them. Trying to teach himself from materials posted on his college’s online platform was like pulling teeth, no pun to his former major intended. He could still feel the anxiety and disappointment he’d felt in himself when he’d had to drop out of dentistry, but this? This was 100 times worse than that. He enjoyed biology, really, and that’s what hurt so much. He had an O level in the subject and was generally fascinated by all of the scientific disciplines. Learning about the way things worked on Earth and the ways humans could view microscopic things with just a few mirrors, and how humans simply theorized everything from gravity to infinity and beyond was mind blowing to him, but online learning was sucking the life out of it all, literally. It was taking all the curiosity and enthusiasm away from science. It was no fun anymore. 

The current situation found Freddie and Roger sat at the kitchen table. Freddie with his sewing machine set up and running a one-man assembly line of masks to sell on their Etsy shop. He and Roger had cut out several sets of panels for them the night before. Roger had his laptop, his half of the table littered with textbooks and notebooks, open and annotated. A zeppelin album played softly from Brian’s parent’s old record player in the living room where Deaky had his study materials spread out on the coffee table. Bri had slept in, having stayed up late to make observations of the night sky from their tenement’s roof. 

“How’s it going, Rog?” Brian hummed, striding into the kitchen looking rather well rested. He knew the blond had been struggling, and with experience as a peer tutor he had been trying his best to help out when he could, even if it was just going over flashcards with him. 

“Bloody horrible,” Roger moaned as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. “This screen is killing my head and I can’t bloody focus on a damn thing. I’ve been reading this same article for an hour.”

“Let’s take a break then, yeah? We could play scrabble or watch TV?” He took a seat adjacent to the blond, leaning forward and trying to offer comfort through his body language. 

“Deaky is studying in the living room. Besides, I don’t deserve a break. I haven’t gotten anything done all day. I have a test due and I haven’t gotten half through the unit!”

Brian frowned, his eyes raking over the blond as he considered how he could help him. The guitarist’s courses had actually become easier online so he had a hard time relating to Roger’s struggle. After the pain that had been dentistry, the drummer had been blowing through biology like a breeze, and Brian just couldn’t understand why all of a sudden it was so much harder for him. “Come on, Rog,” he voiced, knowing this probably wouldn’t end well. “You know this shit, you’re good at it. You can do it.”

“No I fucking can’t!” Roger exploded, face turning beet red as he jumped to his feet so that his chair clattered as it skid across the floor behind him. “I can’t fucking do this, Bri! I’m too fucking stupid, I can’t bloody teach myself!” The blond screamed in frustration as he swept his arm across the table, pushing his textbooks and notes to the floor. 

Brian barely reached out in time to save his friend’s laptop. It had a hefty case on it for this very reason, but he couldn’t be too cautious.

“Roger darling,” Freddie spoke without looking up from his sewing machine. “If you could keep the table-moving to a minimum that would be lovely.” 

The drummer let out a guttural shout of pure anger and kicked the wall as hard as he could. Unfortunately, in his tantrum, he had neglected to take into consideration that the outside walls of their tenement were cinderblock. A burst of pain shot through his right foot and radiated up through his leg as it collided with the wall. 

“FUCK” he yelled, stumbling back and hopping on his left foot, bracing himself against the table. 

“Bloody hell, Roger!” Freddie shouted as the table lurched against the drummers weight, sending loose pins rolling to the floor.

In a surge of compassion for the blond (albeit undeserved), Brian leapt up and caught him under his arms, gently steering and lowering him back into his chair. “Aye, what’d you do that for?” The guitarist hummed, kneeling before his unruly friend and peering up at his face, waiting patiently for him to meet his gaze. 

Roger blinked. Tears he hadn’t given permission to fall were threatening to spill and he blinked rapidly to clear them. “Holy hell that hurt,” he huffed, his head suddenly a lot clearer than it had been moments ago. The pain had shocked him out of his downward spiral. 

“I bet.” Brian chuckled darkly. “Let’s see it, mate.”

Roger frowned deeply and stuck out his socked foot toward Brian, wincing as it throbbed in pain. The guitarist gently looped his fingers in the band of the sock and peeled it off the drummer’s foot, careful not to jostle it too much. Roger took in a sharp breath as the absence of the sock only made the throbbing worse. 

“Hm.” Brian pondered, not daring to touch the tender area without permission. “Its already swelling.” 

“‘Course it is,” Roger spat, smacking his own forehead with the heel of his palm before leaning heavily on it. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Can’t argue with you there, dear.” Freddie interjected, bitterly as he glared up from the floor where he had ducked down to retrieve his fallen pins.

“Not now, Fred,” Brian sighed in exasperation. “It could be broken, Rog. Can I…?” He gestured toward the foot in question. 

“Do what you have to.” Roger groaned, slumping back and covering his eyes with one hand. 

Brian gently thumbed around the metatarsals, wincing at the spongey feeling of the swelling while Roger bit down hard on his lip in attempt to keep himself in check. “Well,” Brian hummed, “don’t think its broken, actually. It feels okay.”

“Fractured,” Roger choked before expelling the breath he’d been holding as Brian released his foot. “It could be fractured.”

“You can’t go to hospital right now, Roggie,” the guitarist almost scolded, his brow furrowing as he straightened up. “They can’t take on something so frivolous during a pandemic and you’d surely catch the virus if you went to A&E.”

“I know” Roger moaned, sinking further down in his seat, covering his eyes once more, accepting his fate.

“Put your sock back on, I’ll get an ice pack.”

***

Roger had settled on the couch near where Deaky was still working at the coffee table, and the seemingly undisturbed bassist was even kind enough to clear a space on it for Roger to rest his foot, having heard the commotion from the other room. Brian had brought an icepack and some anti-inflammatories for the drummer to take, and joined the other two in the living room, switching off the record player before turning the TV on, flipping until he found a mindless show they could all tolerate. 

The guitarist noticed that the blonde had fallen uncharacteristically silent and was staring off into space as he chewed on his thumb nail. Roger being silent was rarely a good thing, and Brian guessed he was either in pain or lost in anxiety about school. Probably an unpleasant combination of both. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. Freddie was the soother in this household, Brian was just the caretaker. But the singer certainly wasn’t in the mood to do any coddling today, so the guitarist figured he’d have to give it his best shot. 

“Alright there, Rog?” He asked cautiously, catching John’s attention to silently glance over at the blond before exchanging a concerned glance with the guitarist. 

No response. 

Brian cleared his throat, “Roger.”

The drummer jumped slightly and looked around, bewildered for a moment before he focused on the guitarist, raising his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You were somewhere else for a moment. You alright?” Brian knew it was a moot question. Roger wouldn’t admit not being okay so easily. 

As expected the drummer hummed an aloof “yeah I’m good” before furrowing his brows as he lifted his phone and started scrolling through something in order to avoid further conversation. Brian sighed and turned back to the TV, barely paying attention as he considered how he could help his friend. 

Before anyone could retreat much further into their thoughts, however, Freddie made his grand entrance. 

“Oh, my fingers are just simply rubbed raw! I’m calling it a day.” Freddie sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the other end of the couch. “I’ve made at least 20 designer-quality masks today alone. We have to start making some money off them. Fabric is getting pricey. Roger, darling you must get a listing up before the day’s end.”

Brian, still keeping an eye on the blond noticed the way his shoulders tensed at the singer’s demand. “On it, Fred.” He hummed, gingerly testing his foot on the floor before getting up unsteadily, phone in hand to take pictures of the fabric swatches and examples for the listing. 

“Rog, sit down, mate!” Brian protested. “You need to rest your foot.”

“Oh bollocks he did it to himself!” Freddie hissed, shooting a glare at the guitarist. “Besides, its his job to do the listings and we all need rent money. I’ve been sewing all bloody day.” 

“I’m fine, Bri…” the drummer sighed, trailing off. 

Brian could see right through the facade. It wasn’t even really the pain that was clear in the drummer’s stormy blue eyes, but a kind of desperate anxiety, a look that screamed “I’m overwhelmed” to anyone who knew Roger as well as he did. But arguing with him would only make it worse, so the guitarist just sent him a soft frown, meeting his eyes in careful support. The drummer had already had one meltdown today and the last thing Brian wanted was to contribute to another. 

Taking the guitarist’s look as a dismissal, Roger scurried off back to the kitchen with a slight limp, but he hid it well. 

“Fred, cut him some slack, will you?” Brian sighed, sparing a disappointed glance at the singer. 

“He’s been useless all week!”

“Because he’s having a hard time with school!”

“And that gives him an excuse to not do anything?”

“Well, no, of course not but you riding his ass isn’t going to make him get anything done.” 

“We have to make money, Bri!”

“I know that but—“

“Well I’m not going to do his work too! I do all the bloody work for that shop—“

“Fuck you, Fred.” A cold, bone-chilling voice cut in.

Everyone, even John who was still trying to study through the squabble, turned to look at the drummer who was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, where of course he could hear every word said across the tiny flat. The blond’s brows were furrowed and his face was red with rage, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. He looked just about ready to murder, but Freddie stood his ground. “You haven’t done a single thing for the shop this week, Roger. You’re supposed to be managing it and you haven’t even given it a thought!”

“How dare you,” the blond hissed clearly trembling with rage. 

Brian could see another meltdown coming from a mile away, and he leapt to his feet, taking just three strides to reach the drummer and push him gently back into the kitchen and as far from Freddie as he could. The shaking of the lean body beneath his hands rattled the guitarist to his core and he was very quickly reminded why Roger was not to be underestimated. The drummer was a force to be reckoned with: he was passionate, hardheaded, and he really did work so hard in anything and everything he did. His passion shown through in moments like this, where it overpowered him and made him irrational. No one could tell Roger he didn’t work hard, not even his best friend. It hurt him that Freddie felt he wasn’t doing a good job.

The blond was breathing hard and fast through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fists as Brian steered him to the chair he had occupied earlier. “How could he?” Roger hissed between breaths. “I put everything into that shop. I bloody respond to customers within minutes, I—“

“Hey, hey, shh Rog. Cool down, mate.”

“Don’t tell me to cool down, Brian!” The blond tried to shout but his voice broke pathetically. “I can’t do this!” 

Brian watched in horrified fascination as, instead of his usual yelling, screaming, kicking, and throwing, Roger hung his head and began to cry. Not just whine and moan but legitimately weep.

“I can’t take this, Brian. I can’t do it.” he wept, curing in on himself. He tucked his face into his hands to hide his tears in shame and drew his legs up onto the chair, curing up on it in a defensive fetal position.

“What can’t you do, Roggie?” Brian sighed as gently as he could, pulling up his own chair so he could sit in front of the drummer and lay a comforting hand on his knee. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s eating you.”

“I can’t take this quarantine any longer. I never thought i’s say it but I need to be in school, I need to have structure. I need a time and place to do my schoolwork, and I need to have what I signed up for! I didn’t fucking sign up for this!” The drummer was full on wailing then, and the guitarist scooted closer so he could hug him tight.

“Shh, mate. None of us did, but we have to buck up and do it, you know that. It’s gonna be alright.”

“I do care about the shop, you know.” Roger sniffled as he eased into Brian’s embrace, letting the guitarist unfurl and hold him.

“I know you do, Rog.”

“I don’t understand how he could say that I don’t. I’ve been helping him plan, I helped cut out fabric last night, I’ve been handling correspondence. The only thing I’ve dropped the ball on is active advertising. And so I haven’t put up new listings, well we don’t have any new merchandise!”

“I know, and you do a great job when you can,” Brian sighed, leaning back from the embrace so he could look the drummer in his teary eyes. “But understand Freddie is under just as much stress as you are and he’s only acting out of frustration. I know it felt like a personal attack, but please don’t take it personally.”

Roger nodded glumly and averted his eyes from the guitarist’s, wiping his nose pitifully on the back of his hand. “I need to get something done so I don’t feel so stressed and useless.”

Brian nodded in understanding as he silently cursed Freddie for using that word on Roger. He knew how Roger’s mind worked and calling him useless was the greatest insult. “Alright. Let’s get the listing out of the way then, yeah? Then we can sit down and work on your schoolwork, even if I have to read it to you verbatim.”

“Okay.” The blond agreed, the ghost of a watery smile touching his lips.


	4. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's depression catches up to him in week 6 of quarantine, and he hurts the people he loves most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depression, suicidal ideation if you squint, mentioned domestic violence
> 
> Happy Saturday, here's an angsty gift for ya!

Week 6 of Lockdown

They’d all known it was coming, so it was no surprise when one day Brian just didn’t get up. They had all been lazing in the living room, watching some dumb game show when noon had come and gone and the guitarist had yet to join them. Sure, they were all capable of sleeping in late, but noon was their agreed upon threshold of unacceptable time to sleep in. 

Freddie seemed to be the only one to notice the time, even as Roger’s stomach gave an audible growl in want of lunch, and the singer fidgeted nervously in his seat. No matter how well he knew Brian or how many times they dealt with his depression, it was never any less nerve-racking to handle. It was hard on all of them: Hard on Brian because he felt so terribly low, and hard on the others because all of them would experience the anxiety that comes with knowing a friend is hurting and not knowing how to help them. It could also get frustrating for them all trying to take his mood swings in stride. It never got any easier for any of them to handle. 

Another hour passed before Freddie decided it was time to intervene. As Roger and John headed to the kitchen, playfully shoving and racing each other for the leftover mac and cheese waiting in the fridge, Freddie headed down the hall to Brian. 

He approached the closed bedroom door and gently knocked out a pattern on the hollow wood. “Brimi? Can I come in?”

No answer. 

“Brian?” Freddie pushed the door open and squinted into the dark. A stream of light from the curtains revealed a lump under the blanket on the guitarist’s bed that was most certainly him. “Brian, answer me please.”

“Go away,” came the grumbled, muffled response from the lump. 

“You cannot stay in bed all day, doll.” Freddie approached the bed and tugged at the covers. “Come on get up.” 

“Who says I can’t stay in bed all day?” Brian grumped, his eyes finally revealed from under the covers to shoot daggers at the singer. 

“I say.” Freddie decidedly wasn’t playing games. If his curly-haired friend was going to be stubborn, the singer would try his hand at tough love. “Get up.”

“Fred, seriously, I’m tired. Just leave me be.”

“Why should I?”

“Because there’s nothing to do anyway.”

Just then, the sound of tumbling plasticware and a huffed “ow” from presumably Roger came from the kitchen, followed by hysterical laughter from Deaky and then a shout of indignation from Roger. Perfect timing really. 

“Well, sounds like we need to go keep those two imbeciles from killing each other. So come on. Up.” 

Brian let out a growl of frustration but nonetheless followed Freddie’s lead and dragged himself out of bed before following him to the kitchen. The scene they found was enough to make the guitarist want to dive back into bed and never return, and Freddie couldn’t blame him if he did. 

Roger was sat on the floor, legs sprawled out and surrounded by fallen plasticware. Lids and containers everywhere. Since when had they even had that many? The drummer looked rather dizzy and was holding his head while the bassist was doubled over, cackling at his mate’s apparent misfortune. 

“Roger, what on Earth—?” Freddie’s gaze swept over the scene, concern and confusion written all over his face. 

The drummer glared up at Freddie and Brian vehemently before groaning and grabbing on to the counter’s edge to pull himself to his feet. “I was attacked by bloody tupperware.” He steadied himself, seeming to go dizzy again for a moment before straightening up and wincing as he stretched. “Deaks and I were gonna split the leftovers since we got there at the same time. I was just trying to get a damn bowl and they came down like a bloody avalanche and knocked me off the bloody counter.”

“Naturally,” Freddie chuckled. “What else could we expect from Dumb and Dumber?”

“I believe you’re his partner in crime there, Fred.” John giggled, wiping a few stray tears away from having been laughing so hard. “But I digress. Rog, I think you’ve earned the leftovers to yourself. That was the laugh of the century!”

Roger took the container from Deaky and grumbled in annoyance as he retreated to his room. 

“Oi! You gonna help pick all this up?” Brian shouted angrily. A hand on his shoulder stole his attention before he could go after the blond.

“Brian, darling, let him be.” Freddie cooed, amusement still written all over his face. “The poor thing just entertained us all at the expense of his own embarrassment. It’ll take us five seconds to clean up.”

The guitarist was fuming as he knelt down to gather some of the fallen plasticware. “You literally dragged me out of bed to clean up Roger’s mess.” he spat, accusingly. 

“Nonsense, darling. That was just sheer dumb luck.” Freddie scooped up some lids and stacked them neatly, shooting a glare at Deaky’s back, as it faced them from where he stood rummaging through the refrigerator. He didn’t say anything to the bassist for not helping though, not wanting to cause any extra tension. Today’s focus was Brian and taking care of him, not picking fights with the others. “I was actually thinking we could do some writing today, hmm?” The singer peered over at Brian hopefully, though he kept his expression laxed. He certainly didn’t want to clue the guitarist in that he was worried about him. 

“I’m not in the mood, Fred.” Brian shoved the haphazard stack of containers he’d gathered up into the cabinet. “Just let me be, yeah?”

“Oh but Brimi I have some excellent ideas I just must try out before they disappear forever. I need your musical vision to develop them. Please?”

“Can’t you write on your own?” Brian gave the singer a pointed glare but the puppy dog eyes he received in return could not be resisted. “Oh fine. Show me what you got.” The guitarist sighed, gesturing toward the living room where Freddie’s piano stood against the inside wall. He trudged over to the couch and collapsed on it in a heap while the singer traipsed over to perch on the piano bench.

Brian laid back and listened absentmindedly as Freddie played around on the keys and transitioned into a melody. It was pretty but there weren’t any words to it yet. He didn’t really care enough to focus on the intricacies of the notes or how they progressed. 

The music faded into the background as he gazed up at the ceiling, studying a bit of the textured plaster by the ceiling fan. He was unable to conjure any thoughts about the song or the spot on the ceiling. Instead his mind wandered incoherently, images flitting through like a fast-forwarded VHS tape from his childhood. He could see snippets of the world: his family, friends, strangers on the street. 

If Roger was lying there with him he might point out shapes and characters in the plaster like those found in clouds. He would muse about something pleasant, such as what was for dinner or a nice song he’d heard that day, ever the optimist. If Freddie were lying with him he’d probably study the ceiling and contemplate some deep meaning of life he saw in the abstract lines, before jumping right into a rant about current fashion trends or celebrities’ relationships. If John were lying with him he wouldn’t say anything at all, enjoying peaceful, companionable silence with him. 

Brian’s heart ached as he thought of his friends. Why did he feel the ache of missing them when they were all confined to the same 900 square foot flat. Why did he feel so empty? Like he’d lost something. 

He reflected on the way he’d withdrawn himself from them over the past week or so. It was his own fault that he felt distant from them. He hadn’t quite done it on purpose, but it had started when he began to notice little habits of their’s that grated on his nerves. Little things each of them did made Brian’s skin crawl, and after weeks and weeks of constantly being around them, he wanted nothing to do with any of them. 

Freddie, dear Freddie always made things far too dramatic. Brian wanted to throttle him every time he made a fuss about something as insignificant as one of them forgetting to use a coaster. The man acted like the damn table would fall apart from the minuscule amount of moisture, when one look at the thing showed that it had been through far worse while it sat abandoned in an alley for God only knew how long before Roger had scavenged it and brought it home. 

John’s quiet sarcasm and smart comments made Brian want to scream. John didn’t need to make a sly comment every time Freddie lost a shoe or Roger did something rash, for Pete’s sake!

And Roger, good Lord someone give the guy a sedative. Roger never ever stopped moving. Either he was shaking his foot while reading on the couch, tapping his pen or bouncing his leg while studying, fraying the blanket tag with his fingers or twisting some random object in his hands while they all watched a movie, he never ever stopped! There were days Brian wanted to chuck him out the bloody window. 

The guitarist didn’t want to write. He didn’t want to do anything, and the constant clang of the piano keys felt like they were squeezing into his brain with every key strike. His saving grace actually came in the form of John entering the room and commenting on the tempo, causing Freddie to stop mid chord change, but the relief was short lived as the singer launched into a dramatic lecture on manners. 

“Yes the bloody tempo was off! I don’t have the proper setting and no one is playing with me, how could it be on tempo?! I don’t bloody care John it doesn’t matter now does it?” Freddie’s hands flew in wild, over the top gestures. Deaky’s comment hadn’t even seemed like a big deal, how melodramatic could the singer be?

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” John grumbled, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh no no, dear don’t turn this on me! It’s rude to interrupt someones playing whether it is perfect or horrid!!”

Roger skipped into the room then, attracted by the commotion. “What’s going on?” he butted in, unceremoniously plopping down onto the arm of the couch Brian was laid out on, closest to Freddie. The guitarist inched away, not in the mood to have his space invaded by a certain blond cling-on.

“Freddie’s hysterical. What else is new?” Deaky teased, rolling his eyes in the singer’s direction. 

“What’s he on about this time?” giant blue orbs turned on the singer shining with mischievous curiosity.

“Nothing to do with you, dear.” Freddie sighed, booping Roger affectionately on the nose with his index finger. “I’ve just been showing Bri a new melody and dearest Deaky barged in like a bloody bull in a china shop.” All traces of irritation were gone from Freddie’s tone and expression as he playfully whopped the bassist over the head, flipping his hair over his face.

“Hey!” John protested as Roger dissolved into giggles at the scene.

“Deaky? A bull in a china shop? Who are you and what have you done with our Deaky?” Roger giggled, squirming on his perch. “Well let’s hear it then, Fred. What did dearest Deaky interrupt?” he settled a bit as he mocked the singer, a daring smirk on his face.

“Well darling if you must hear:” Freddie struck up the piano keys once more, launching straight back into his working melody.

Brian relaxed a bit as the swell of the instrument filled the room, effectively silencing the voices of his three noisy flatmates. He supposed music was better than their usual squabbling. 

He let his mind drift away from the scene of the living room for a little bit, not that it would have stayed in one place for longer than a fleeting moment anyway. He blocked out all the commotion his bandmates were causing as they obnoxiously turned Freddie’s writing time into a jam session. Brian didn’t even notice when Roger picked up his Red Special from its stand in the corner to play along unplugged to whatever they were bullshitting. He had them completely tuned out.

He sighed heavily as he contemplated their current situation. Who would have ever thought something like this would happen in their lifetime? Brian worried for himself, because anyone would go stir crazy staying at home for weeks on end, even the most introverted introvert. He hated this. He hated being locked away from the world, confined with people who were such overbearing personalities. He hated that every time he had to go out to the grocery store he felt so disconnected from the few people around him, unable to share smiles through their masks. It sucked. It absolutely sucked, and he wanted it to end.

Out of nowhere, Brian was quite literally knocked out of his thoughts by the bodyweight of a certain cackling drummer landing full-force on his shins. 

“Fucking hell, Roger!” He shouted, angrily yanking his legs out from under the unruly blond. He quickly realized they were laughing about something funny one of them had said whilst Brian had been off in his own little world. In true Roger fashion the blond had laughed so hard he’d lost his balance from where he’d been seated on the armrest. 

The blond scrambled to sit up and was still laughing jubilantly, face red and eyes teary with joy as he looked up at the guitarist. “Oh, Bri, did you hear Fred just now?” Roger giggled, wiping his eyes and nonchalantly pulling the guitar back up onto his lap from where it had ended up on the floor. 

Brian’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on the instrument the blond was clinging to. If he had taken a moment to think, he would have realized that the guitar was absolutely fine. He would have realized that there was no way in hell Roger would let anything happen to it, even in his most care-free state. Maybe his mind would have put two and two together to realize the blonde had set it gently on the floor as he’d fallen over, as it was only about a foot from the couch to the ground and that would’ve been the logical thing to do anyway. In fact, Roger would have had to go out of his way in order to drop it. But Brian didn’t take a moment to think, he only acted. 

The strike across his cheek shocked the drummer into silence as Brian slapped him hard and snatched his guitar from him in one fell swoop. “For God’s sake, do you EVER bloody stop?!” He shouted in Roger’s face as he leapt to his feet, clutching the instrument to his chest as he shot daggers at the blond. 

Roger only stared, wide-eyed, dumbfounded, and clutching his cheek as the guitarist went off on him. 

“Can you just stop bloody bouncing around for ONE Goddamn second?! You are the most careless and annoying little shit I have ever met in my entire bloody life!”

“Brian—“ John tried to interject, but was immediately cut off. 

“And you!” Brian rounded on John, “Can you just fucking stop with the sly comments?! Stop butting in! And Freddie for God’s sake shut the fuck up! Not everything has to be some huge production! This isn’t the bloody cinema!! Get the fuck over yourselves, the both of you!”

Brian was shaking with rage as he clutched his guitar to his chest. It felt good to yell in the moment. It was a release of frustration that he had needed. His gaze swept over the three of them: Freddie’s expression was hard, anger blazing in his usually kind brown eyes; John looked almost ill and absolutely horrified as he stared at the guitarist; and Roger, oh dear Roger, his lower lip wobbled and his eyes glazed over with hurt as he looked away bashfully, his body beginning to tremble. His poor cheek was bright red when he’d been struck. 

Immediate guilt overcame Brian at the looks of his best friends, but before he could take back anything he’d said Roger leapt to his feet and bolted down the hallway to his room. 

“Fuck, Bri.” Deaky breathed more worried than angry as he jumped up to follow the blond, leaving Freddie and Brian alone. 

A door down the hall slammed hard enough to shake the walls, then opened and closed once more as Deaky followed Roger into the room at the end. A deadly silence washed over the living room where Brian and Freddie remained.

“What the hell was that?” Freddie’s voice was low and dark. Brian knew he was in deep shit. “You just hit Roger. You hit ROGER.” 

Brian squirmed, shifting his weight as he futilly searched the floor for any distraction, any escape from this conversation. He could feel Freddie’s glare, and when he finally looked up he knew he’d be dead if looks could kill. The anger in the usually warm, kind eyes was alarming, and they were alight with pure unadulterated fury. For a moment the guitarist was genuinely confused. Yeah, he’d been a dick, but Freddie seemed much more than just offended.

“Brian. He’s a fucking domestic violence survivor and you just HIT HIM.” 

Oh. Oh fuck. 

Brian gulped, meeting Freddie’s eyes in horror. What had he done? “I— Freddie I—“

“The worst part is he didn’t even do anything!” The singer was pacing now as the guitarist stood planted in his spot, unsure of what to do. “And on top of that you said bloody horrible things about all of us! All. of. us. What’s your problem? Do you really feel that way?”

“No Freddie, of course not!” It was becoming too much for him, heat rose to his face. 

“Then why have you been such an absolute cunt?!” 

“Because I can’t fucking stand this!” Brian exploded in rage. If he thought he’d been pushed past his breaking point just moments ago with Roger, he was past his shattering point now. “I can’t bloody stand being locked up in this stupid bloody flat 24/7 with flatmates who never shut the fuck up! All of you! There’s constantly something— Constantly! Always something causing any one of you to just be so fucking obnoxious and I can’t bloody stand it!” He felt tears of frustration welling in his eyes but he wasn’t done yet. Not ready to give in. He was still angry. 

“I can’t fucking stand all this unknown, Fred! I can’t take this bloody melancholy boredom every minute of every day! I’ve been trying to be okay, I really have. I’ve distracted myself: I’ve helped Rog with his school, you with writing, Deaky with the cooking, but I haven’t got a real purpose right now. I’ve tried to keep my head above the water but I just can’t anymore! What even matters if we don’t know when we can interact with other humans again? What am I here for? What are any of us here for?!” The tears finally spilled over as sadness overwhelmed the anger once more. 

The guitarist met the singers eyes, and miraculously Freddie’s steely expression softened. He stopped his pacing and stepped up to Brian, worry written all over his face. “Brain, darling, this is only temporary.” He set his hands on either of the guitarists shoulders in an attempt at a comforting gesture. 

“But we don’t know anything. It’s bloody terrible. What if we never go back to normal?”

“We will, even if it means developing a new normal. We’re going to be okay, dear. Right now all we can do is be there for each other.”

“But what if I can’t handle it anymore? What if I’m too weak?” An uncontrolled sob escaped Brian’s chest and he squeezed his eyes closed, tears pouring down his cheeks. He still clutched the Red Special to his chest in an attempt to self soothe. 

“Don’t be silly, love.” Freddie smiled softly, reaching up to play with a lock of Brian’s hair. “You’re so strong, and you’re going to make it through these dark days. I know you’re hurting right now Bri, but there will be an end to this lockdown. You might he sick of us, but you’ll always have me, Rog, and Deaky. You couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.” He smirked at that, affectionately ruffling Brian’s unruly mane of curls. 

The guitarist sighed and leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and willing the tears to dry. 

“And more so,” Freddie continued, his voice lowered in seriousness. “The three of us need you. More than you’ll ever know.”

Brian slowly blinked his eyes open and met Freddie’s gaze. Kindness shone in the singer’s deep brown eyes once more the way it was meant to, and suddenly Brian didn’t feel so alone. He wholeheartedly believed in Freddie’s words, and felt the smallest strike of hope spark back up in his heart. He had his boys, and they had him. Of course the sweet words weren’t going to make his sadness go away just like that, but they certainly lessened the burden, even if just in the moment.

A small smile began to play at the corners of the guitarist’s lips, but it soon faltered again when he remembered the words he’d shouted at his best friends only moments ago. “What about all the things I said? God, Fred, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I am so sorry.”

“Oh darling, I forgive you. I’m sure Rog and Deaky will as well. Just talk to them, tell them how you’re feeling.” Freddie gently pried the Red Special from Brian’s grasp and replaced it on its stand before guiding him to sit back down on the couch. “They’re both having a rough time with all this as well, you know. We’re all feeling some odd things right now; poor Deaky hasn’t left the flat in weeks. They’ll understand.”

“But I hit Rog.” Brian was disgusted with himself. On Freddie or Deaky a slap wouldn’t be a big deal at all. They’d cool down, apologize, hug it out like brothers and move on, but it was different with Rog. He’d alluded to being a survivor of domestic violence, though he never elaborated even to his best mates (though Brian had a sneaking suspicion that Freddie knew a bit more than the other two). He’d suffered from nightmares and anxiety for as long as any of the bandmates knew him and the blond had only admitted to having experienced it at all after the boys questioned him about a rather dark song he had written. 

“Brian, you know him as well as I do, and we both know our Roggie loves and forgives without question. He will forgive you.” Freddie snaked his arms around Brian as he spoke and held the guitarist in his arms for a moment just basking in the finally calm atmosphere. “It’ll be alright dear. It always is. You know that.”

“I know,” Brian sighed, leaning into Freddie. “But it’s hard to remember that sometimes.”

“I know, dear.” Freddie quieted and just relaxed into Brian, the welfare of everyone in the flat weighing heavily on his mind. Tempers were short and emotions were high, but he knew if they just stuck it out they would be okay, no matter how miserable they felt in the moment.


	5. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension in the house drives Freddie to his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've super productive with writing these past few days, I don't know why but let's hope it doesn't end! This chapter wasn't originally planned but two people requested closure for the last chapter's events, so I was able to crank a whole chapter out of the idea, and I think it fits well.

Tension in the flat was at an unprecedented level. After Brian’s little outburst he had apologized and John and Roger had immediately forgiven him, though it was clear the hurt was still there. The whole dynamic of the flat had shifted.

Deaky hadn’t been that personally affected by Brian’s words, though he had asserted a sort of dominating presence around the guitarist in the days following the incident. He had become protective of Roger and even when the drummer wasn’t around he would shoot glares at Brian at any given opportunity. It wasn’t a fun time for Brian to share a room with John, that was for sure. 

Roger had been avoiding Brian like the plague, but he insisted he wasn’t afraid of him. He’d said as much when Freddie cornered him in their shared bedroom after a full day of watching the blond avoid Brian. 

“I’m not scared of him, Fred, bloody hell.” Roger had grumbled indignantly, running a hand over his face in exasperation.

“Then why on Earth are you avoiding him? Please darling I just want to understand.” Freddie gently pulled Roger over to his bed and guided him to settle in with him. They always had their deep talks side by side staring up at the ceiling. The two of them knew more about each other than anyone else. Freddie had told Roger some of his deepest, darkest secrets from boarding school that no other soul knew about; and Roger told Freddie all of his childhood woes. They trusted each other wholeheartedly, and never kept secrets from the other. 

“You’ll laugh at me.” Roger said in a small voice as he snuggled into Freddie’s bed, seeking comfort from the luxuriously soft duvet. 

“Never, love. Only when you’re being a dumbass.”

“You might think I am.” The drummer’s breath shook as he squirmed beside Freddie. “Its stupid.”

“If it’s getting you this worked up it’s not stupid.” The singer rolled onto his side and gazed at the side of his best friend’s face. Even from the odd angle he could see the anxiety written all over his delicate features, and he reached out a finger to stroke his cheek. “You’re safe, love. Please talk to me.” 

“He called me annoying!” Roger suddenly gushed, yanking Freddie’s duvet over his head to hide away. “I know it’s dumb, I know he said he was sorry, but... well he said sorry for hitting me. Not for that.”

“Darling, that’s not dumb at all.”

“It’s not?” Roger peeked his wide azure eyes out at the singer, nervously picking at the duvet.

“Of course not. It’s totally rational.” Freddie studied the blond and offered his inquisitive eyes a sweet, reassuring smile. “He hurt your feelings, I know that sounds childish but its true, and ‘sorry’ doesn’t just make that go away, especially if it’s not an explicit apology.”

“Well, uh, ya know. That’s why I’m staying away. I feel like I’m annoying him all the time now.” Roger shifted awkwardly turning onto his side to face Freddie as well, but no longer meeting his eyes. “I don’t mean to be annoying.”

“You know I can’t speak for him, but I do know he loves you with his whole heart and he would never want you to take what was said in anger to heart.” 

“I know, but—“

“But, the fact of the matter is that he didn’t mean it. He’s depressed and you know how he is when that hits him. Please darling, don’t take it to heart.”

“I know, but that’s easier said than done.” Roger scooted closer to Freddie and pulled him into the duvet cocoon, snuggling against his chest. “Am I annoying, Fred? Be honest.”

“No, lovie. You are perfectly you.” The singer’s arms wound around the skinny blond and held him tight against his body, sharing his warmth. Inside, his heart broke a little bit for the drummer. His sweet, darling little brother was hurting and he couldn’t do a thing about it. 

***

Throughout the week Roger remained rather quiet and subdued despite his talk with Freddie, and the singer was watching his bandmates interactions like a hawk. Roger was tiptoeing around everyone, acting like a scolded child and clearly trying to kiss up to all of then. He offered to help with chores that weren’t his, stayed quiet during arguments, and kept to his room most of the time. Freddie could see that the situation was wearing on the blond and noticed he was starting to sleep during the day and stay up until early hours of the morning. 

Brian seemed to be tiptoeing as much as Roger, though he tended to wake up in the morning and plant himself in the corner armchair of the living room all day, often toying with his guitar and writing in his songbook. It was clear he was avoiding both John and Roger. 

John was still madly territorial over Roger and would be right at his side whenever the blond was up and about during the day. He had also started spending good chunks of time in the bedroom he shared with the guitarist, watching netflix on his laptop and effectively keeping Brian out during daylight hours. 

Freddie was the only one upholding some semblance of normal interaction. He made a point to speak to everyone at least once in passing everyday. But he was reaching his breaking point. A solid week of trying to cater to all three of his flatmates separately was wearing on his nerves and he had enough. 

The tipping point was when on the Monday of week seven of quarantine, Brian had taken his usual place in his armchair and was peacefully playing Red unplugged. Freddie watched from the kitchen as Deaky strode into the room, plopped down onto the couch and flipped the TV on, flipping through the channels obnoxiously. 

John slowly increased the volume until Brian couldn’t focus on his guitar. Fed up, the guitarist reached over and flipped on the small amplifier that sat by Red’s stand and he plugged her in, effectively feeding in to the development of a pissing contest between he and Deaky. When John increased the volume of the TV, Brian increased the volume of the amp, and that continued back and forth until the volume capped out on the TV. 

It didn’t take long before Brian backed down and gathered Red and his notebook before standing to leave the room, but Freddie had had enough. 

“Wait a second, Bri.” The singer hurried into the living room, holding up a hand.

“I was just—“

“No, you two are acting like children. This ends today. Stay put.”

Brian and John exchanged a confused albeit defensive glance as the singer jogged down the hallway, but neither of them dared defy him. Brian settled back into his chair and set Red aside while John backed the TV volume down to normal volume. 

Meanwhile Freddie charged right in to his and Roger’s room, unceremoniously throwing open the door and flipping on the lights. “Get up!” He shouted, walking up to the blond and shaking him by the shoulders. “Up. Now.”

Roger groaned and rubbed at his eyes blearily as he propped himself up on an elbow. “Wha— Fred what the hell?” He yawned and squinted up at Freddie’s looming figure, confused as hell by his sudden rude awakening. 

“Up! Get up! We’re having a meeting. Up!” The singer swatted at Roger, yanking blankets off of him and stealing his pillow. 

“Alright, alright! Yeesh.” The drummer swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood unsteadily, pulling on his pajama pants he’d shed before going to sleep and retrieving a blanket from the floor to sleepily wrap around his bare shoulders. “What’s the big deal?” 

Freddie led him out into the living room and directed him to the couch beside Deaky before speaking. “I am sick and tired of this heavy atmosphere. We are fixing this shit today. We’re going to talk this out like adults, as a family unit. And we aren’t going to stop until the air is clear. Do you all understand?”

Roger opened his mouth to protest but Freddie silenced him with a sharp glare. They all nodded wearily as the singer challenged each of them with his death stare.

“Good. Let’s get started then.” Freddie sat down on the coffee table so that the four of them sat in a rough circle and pressed the power button on the TV to eliminate distractions. “I’ll go first since this was my idea. We have all been feeling the tension since last week’s incident. Everyone was spoken to about it and yet we are still feeling the effects.” 

He turned to Brian, his expression earnest. “Darling I am sorry I dragged you out into the open when you clearly did not want that. I feel a certain amount of responsibility for what was said and done that day, however, I forced you to get up because I was worried about you. Dear, you mean so much to each and every one of us and it scares us when you withdrawal like that. So, what I have to say is that I am sorry to all of you for playing a role in what happened, and I’m sorry, Brian, for disregarding your autonomy.”

Brian leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees. “I understand why you got me up, Fred, and I’m grateful that you care, but what happened had nothing to do with you. You are never responsible for what I do. It was all me. And I’m sorry.” 

The guitarist sighed heavily as he turned to Roger. “Roggie, I know I’ve apologized and you forgave me already, but I just need to tell you again how sorry I am for slapping you. It was completely uncalled for and I feel absolutely horrible about it.”

Roger’s cautious blue eyes seemed to search the guitarist’s face for a moment before he blinked and looked away, biting his lip nervously. “It’s okay, Bri, I’m not mad.”

“It’s not okay, Rog. I don’t understand why you’re telling me it’s okay but you’ve been acting differently all week! You’re not even looking at me.” Brian couldn’t help but raise his voice a bit out of frustration, causing Roger to flinch and grip his blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry…” 

“For what?!” Brian was close to breaking again. He just didn’t understand.

Roger flinched back again, confusion and overload clear in his eyes. 

“Roger, darling,” Freddie pushed with a soothing voice, “you need to talk to him. That’s what this little family meeting is for.”

“I told you in confidence!” Roger cried, understanding exactly what Freddie wanted him to say as the other two looked on in confusion. 

“I know and I wouldn’t be pushing you to talk if I didn’t think it was important.”

“Fred, what are you on about?” Deaky questioned, gently resting a hand on Roger’s knee to calm him. 

“He told me exactly why he’s avoiding Bri and we all need them to talk it out so we can move on. Especially you, dearest Deaky. We need to clear the air and be friends again.”

Roger cast his gaze to his lap and fidgeted with his blanket, pulling at a loose thread on the tag and watching it unravel. “It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not.” Freddie’s tone, though patient, left no room for argument. Roger had to talk. 

The blond took another look around the room at each of his flatmates before taking in a deep breath. “Bri… I just don’t want to annoy you anymore. That’s all.”

“Roggie…” Brian’s voice cracked and his eyes glazed over with tears of horror. “Oh Rog, no.”

The drummer just peered at Brian, shifting uneasily as he watched the guitarist slowly stand and take a step toward him. 

“Roger can I hug you?” The guitarist’s voice broke as he stood before the couch. “Please?”

The blond nodded and sat up, extending his arms to the guitarist like a small child asking to be picked up. Brian knelt down and threw his arms around him, holding him so tight as though if he didn’t the drummer would disappear. 

“God, Roggie. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean that, mate.”

“Are you sure?” Roger’s voice was small, and he had his eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Brian for dear life. 

“Sure I didn’t mean it? Of course I didn’t. Life is no fun without your rambunctious personality. This past week has been awful without you constantly pestering me for attention.” Though his words contradicted what he was trying to convince the drummer of, Brian’s fond, playful tone communicated loud and clear that he was only teasing as he normally would. They needed normal. “You’re not annoying, Rog. You’re my best friend! I think it’s safe to say we all love how much you keep us all on our toes. We need you just how you are. God, I am so sorry I made you feel so bad.”

Roger pulled away and grinned at the guitarist, looking relieved and happier than he had in days. “It’s okay, Brimi.”

“Really?”

The drummer nodded, his grin stretching into an elated smile. 

“Alright,” Freddie cut in, and Brian settled onto the floor beside Roger’s side of the couch, remaining close. “So Rog and Bri seem okay. John?”

Deaky raised his eyebrows, looking expectantly at the singer. 

“You’ve been an absolute twat to Brian as well. Rog and Bri are settled, now what about you?”

A look of guilt passed over the bassist’s face and he shifted uncomfortably, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well, uh, I suppose I was angry with him. It, uh, made me angry when he slapped Rog, and I just— I don’t know. He apologized and if that’s enough for Rog I suppose it should be enough for me. I guess I just wanted to protect him.” 

“I don’t beed protecting, Deaks, especially not from Brian, but I love you for it.” Roger leaned over and ruffled John’s hair affectionately. 

The bassist squirmed and turned to face Brian. “I’m really sorry, Bri. I should’ve minded my own business or talked to you like an adult. I don’t want us to be closed off from each other like we have been this week. We should never take sides in an imaginary fight like I did.”

“It’s alright, John. I know you probably thought the worst of me— Hell, even I thought the worst of me after that.”

“Right then.” Freddie hummed, eyeing his flatmates with cautious approval. “Are we good? Let’s all hug it out then. Seal the deal that we like each other again.”

“That’s fair!” Roger crowed, tossing his arms out again and jumping at Deaky who was closest, eliciting a surprised yelp from the bassist. 

Brian and Freddie laughed as they exchanged looks before joining the forming cuddle pile on the couch. Joyous laughter and giggling filled the flat for the first time in over a week as the four grown men hugged it out, always cuddly Roger trapping Brian in his blanket as Freddie plopped down right on John’s lap before stretching dramatically over the three of them, cooing “oh but darlings, what about me?”

This. This was exactly what they all lived for these days. Camaraderie and affection that was unbeatable. It was all they had. 

Soon, they were all hugged out and squeezed together on the couch, even though they had plenty of seating elsewhere. No one wanted to be the one to break the bubble of peace that had formed around the four of them. It was absolute bliss after a full week of tension. Roger was squished between Freddie and Brian, and on Brian’s other side sat John, finally relaxing into his roommate’s side. They had all claimed Roger’s blanket and draped it over their laps, and had switched on the TV to a game show. It felt good to be surrounded by loved ones and good feelings again.

Every single one of them knew that Freddie had been right when calling this meeting: they were family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only got two comments on the last chapter... it was a little discouraging after getting so many for the chapter before, especially since the last one was a bit more serious. Comments keep writers going, so if you like this story please let me know! You don't have to be detailed at all, but I would really really appreciate some kind of reaction just to know people are reading. I cherish each and every one of you and try to respond to each of you. Thank you for reading ❤️


	6. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Roger face rising levels of anxiety as the pandemic continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: (just to be safe) anxiety, OCD-like behavior, mysophobia, brief mention of dead body (not graphic), mentions of weight gain, vomit
> 
> The above trigger warnings are in place only because I know the inner monologue later in the chapter could be triggering to those with OCD and/or mysophobia (germaphobia). This inclusion in the story is entirely based on me and the fact that I struggled with mild OCD as a child. I grew out of it (turned into generalized anxiety), but the pandemic has definitely brought some of it back, though not to the extent it is in here. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for all your comments on the last chapter! they made me feel much more confident to continue on with this! I love you all <3
> 
> Roger’s t-shirt is based off of shirts my sister and I have from our parents. 
> 
> Let’s see who can spot my Shameless (US) reference!
> 
> She's a LONG one. Have fun.

Roger woke up completely disoriented. Whatever he’d been dreaming about had felt so entirely real. He couldn’t quite remember the details, but he knew it had something to do with his old dental school labs he used to take. The memory of a cadaver with advanced gum disease assaulted his brain and he gagged. Before he could vomit or wake the sleeping Freddie across the room he slapped a hand over his mouth and breathed deeply through his nose, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to think of anything except his dream.

Nope, he definitely wasn’t going back to sleep.

Roger glanced at his phone and had to hold back a groan when he saw that it was just barely seven. He’d only slept for a few hours though, pretty sure he’d fallen asleep around two or three. He toggled over to the Etsy app and scrolled through recent reviews and orders, noting that he had a few orders to pack. Hopefully Freddie had all of it already done and wouldn’t have to make anything to order.

Roger scrolled through reviews, almost all 5-star, and responded to a few that stuck out. Only one new bad review tainted the shop’s rating. Two-stars. Bitch. He quickly typed out a response to the reviewer: _“Hi, ma’am. I’m sorry the mask you ordered doesn’t fit your four year old. I double and triple checked your order just now— it appears that all the masks you ordered were adult sized. If you’d like to exchange it for a proper size for her, just send us a message, and we’d be happy to help out. - Roger :)”_ he hoped she wouldn’t bother, but he had to show professionalism online and demonstrate that they were willing to work with customers to solve issues. Co-running a business could be quite a pain. Scrolling through new orders he mentally took note of four to be sent out today before locking his phone and stretching.

Standing on shaky legs, he padded slowly out of the bedroom, leaving Freddie snoring peacefully. Stopping at the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror: He was far too pale for this time of year, his eyes looked sunken, and his honey-blond hair had grown out considerably, now far past his shoulders. He looked unhappy, and he hated it.

Roger moved on to the kitchen, firing up the printer on the floor in the corner and plopping down in a chair to sort through the boxes of already-finished masks. He waited for the printer to whir and click to life before adding the packing slips and labels to the print queue. As he waited for the slow-as-molasses machine to do its job, he rested his chin on the back of the chair, glaring moodily at the bright colors and loud patterns of the assorted masks. He was proud of their little business but he hated that this is what it had come to. He missed sorting through boxes of eclectic finds and Freddie’s original creations. Masks only reminded him of the current state of the world.

John was the second to enter the kitchen that early in the morning, having already been awake but drawn out by the sound of the printer. “Mornin’ Rog.” he hummed as he joined the drummer at the table. “You’re up early.”

Roger slumped and glanced at the bassist flippantly. _This is the time I’m normally up._ He thought. But alas, he had indeed been sleeping in later and later as lockdown edged on. He supposed he should greet him back to be polite, even though he wasn’t in the mood. “Mornin’ John.” he gruffed.

“Alright there, Rog?”

“Had a dream I’m not too keen to return to.”

“Ah. Nightmare?”

“Of sorts. Memory.”

John visibly paled. He never knew what to expect when Roger said something like that, it made him nervous. The blond’s memory dreams could be anything as mundane as a time he had to eat something unpleasant, or as dark as a frightening traumatic experience.

“Relax, mate,” Roger sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. “Just another one about dental school. That’s all.”

Ah, that made sense. Though whenever Roger was having nightmares about dental school it was a clear sign that his anxiety was flaring up. That was never a fun time for anyone.

John twiddled his thumbs for a moment, his own anxiety skyrocketing. “Made a pot of coffee yet?” the bassist asked nervously, looking toward the coffee machine. He didn’t even know what he was anxious about, but then again Roger probably didn’t know either. They were feeding off each other.

“Nah.” Roger returned to silence and busied himself sorting the orders into envelopes stuffed with tissue paper and handwritten thank you and well-wish notes. He packed, sealed, and labeled one at a time so no mix-ups could be made. Another order came in right as he was finishing packing up the last, much to his delight, as he loved when they came in while he was already working on orders. He packed the newest order and added it to the neat stack of envelopes beside Fred’s sewing machine. If anyone left the flat today they would take them to post.

While Roger had been working, John brewed a pot of coffee and poured mugs for both himself and the drummer, thoughtfully preparing it for him. “Ope, that’s the last of the milk.”

The drummer’s eyes turned to the bassist who was shaking the carton over the mug meant for Roger. “Lovely. Bri and Fred will be thrilled.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he stood and shuffled over to the fridge to double check, a frown causing a line between his brows. “Guess someone’ll have to make a grocery run. Who went last time?” He looked back to John as he closed the fridge in disappointment. The bassist looked shaken.

“It— it was Bri.”

“What’s wrong, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That means it's my turn.”

Roger was still confused. “Uh, and?”

“I can’t.” The bassist choked out. “Rog, I can’t!” A panicked look flashed in his eyes as he froze, a cold sweat breaking out over his brow.

“Woah woah, Deaky, sit down, talk to me.” Roger was blindsided by the bassist’s sudden panic and gently took him by the elbow and led him to the table, settling him in a chair before pacing back to grab their coffees. “What’s a’matter?”

“Roger, I—“ he shook his head, searching for words. “I don’t know how I can go out right now. The masks— they make me feel trapped, and I can’t read other people’s facial expressions, they can’t read mine. Everyone will be judging me for being out, too. God, I can’t. Not to mention just last week you were ranting about sanitization and you said gloves were useless!”

“Shit, Deaks,” Roger pinched his brow in frustration. “I didn’t mean to scare you! But—“ he bit his tongue to keep from making things worse. “Look, I know it’s freaky right now. I’ll just go instead, okay? You don’t have to go out.”

John visibly relaxed in his chair, eyes widening in surprise. “You’d do that?”

“Of course, mate. I have to post those orders anyway. Not a worry.”

“Thank you.” John released the breath he’d been holding and shakily took a sip of his coffee. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Well, I’m gonna go get dressed, how about you write up a list for me, yeah?” The drummer took several large gulps of coffee, examining the bassist as he did so. The younger man’s outburst had caught him entirely off guard but he was completely ready to take over for him to help out. He wouldn’t feel right watching him go if it was making him so upset. John nodded after a beat and Roger stood, his mind turning as he moved on to planing out his day in his head.

The drummer scurried down the hallway back to his room. Creeping around as to not wake the still-sleeping singer, Roger dug out a pair of jeans for the first time in weeks. He kicked off his pajama pants before ripping off the proverbial bandaid and yanking on the skinny jeans, wincing as he realized how tight they felt compared to the sweats he’d been living in since lockdown began. Trying to button them he realized with a pang that they were far too tight. He had gained weight.

With a heavy sigh Roger snatched a hair tie off his night stand, fed it through the buttonhole, and looped it around the button. That would suffice for the day. He then dug through his pajama shirt drawer and found his dad’s old Pink Floyd shirt from when he’d gotten to see the Dark Side of the Moon tour, an experience Roger was ever-jealous of. The shirt was loose enough he wouldn’t have to feel like a busted can of biscuits as he would in his normal, tight clothing. His favorite sparkly-pink converse completed the look. He could add some bright jacket to make it more his style, but it was far too hot out for that. It wasn’t exactly his normal look but it would work for a day out in a bloody pandemic.

On the way back out of the bedroom Roger grabbed his own mask off one of the hooks on the door. It was a simple, cream floral design on a black background: something a grandmother might wear, though he didn’t give two fucks what anyone thought of it. He had made it himself a few weeks back when he had been bored and pestered Freddie to teach him how to do it. He really hadn’t done that bad of a job.

Roger returned to the kitchen already dreading trying to get his billfold into his back pocket as he watched Deaky pull their squirrel fund out of the cabinet. It was the old coffee can they each shoved extra bills and pocket change into whenever they could to save for joint expenses like groceries. Money was tight with Brian and John both out of work and paying rent out of their savings.

He yawned and sipped at his remaining coffee as he watched Deaky count out about 40 pounds.

“Do you have your card in case you go over?” John asked, fidgeting nervously with the last bill. It was clear he wanted to put it back.

“Yeah I got it.” Roger took the stack John had set out and shoved it into his billfold. “How are we doing?” He peered into the can curiously.

Other than the 10 pound bill John still had in his hand, it was all coins. They usually had upwards of 200 at a time while they were all working and constantly contributing a little here and there. Fuck.

“Not good, Rog.” John sighed. “Maybe go light on groceries? This makes me nervous.”

“Erm,” Roger shuffled in place, at a loss for words. He’d put 20 in just this week! They must have been running low for a while without noticing. He took a 10 back out of his wallet and put it back in the can for good measure. “When Fred gets up ask if you can take a look at our earnings. See if we can budget.”

John nodded sadly and put the can back in the cabinet, softly closing the door over it. “I’ll call mum as well. I need to cover my part, and Bri should as well. I’ll see if we can get it straightened out. Just glad we made it this far. Here’s the list,” he slid a lined sticky note over the counter. “I guess prioritize…”

“Got it, Deaks.” Roger nodded grimly. He shoved his billfold and the list in his back pocket, wincing at the newfound tightness. He was used to being rail thin and fitting into everything. This was not cool. “Text or call if any of you think of anything else.”

“Will do.”

Roger grabbed the envelopes from the table and his keys off the hook by the door and made his way outside. He dropped the envelopes in a post box before heading to his car, a little ‘75 Alfa Romeo that his father had passed down to him, telling him if he got it running it was his. The eclectic old thing fit his Rock ‘n’ Roll image perfectly.

He hadn’t been out in several weeks, and it was surprising to find how empty the streets were. None of the usual clumps of people were walking through town visiting various shops, no tourists, and hardly any cars at all. Shopping was pretty in-and-out as well. There were specific doors to enter and exit, someone taking count of people coming and going, one-way aisles, and face shields at the registers. It was a bit disorienting if nothing else, as he kept finding himself needing to go in circles to go down the aisles he needed in the right direction. Other than the weirdness of this strange situation, his outing was generally uneventful.

The anxiety didn’t hit until Roger was putting everything into his car. As he got behind the wheel he realized that he didn’t have any hand sanitizer. Oh well, he’d just have to make a conscious effort to not touch his face. No big deal. Right? The day was going pretty well over all. First outing in weeks and he’d posted Etsy orders and gone grocery shopping! He felt so productive but also exhausted. Trips out were a lot more tiring now than they used to be.

He messed with the radio he had installed in the old car, pressing a few buttons until music from his phone began to play through the speakers. It was some Zeppelin song that got him smiling and singing along, playing around to see how well he could match his voice to Robert Plant’s.

On the drive home Roger found himself contemplating this whole lockdown deal, wondering what effects it was having on people across the globe. What about growing toddlers and people in nursing homes who needed social interaction to thrive? What about new dads who couldn’t visit their wives and babies in hospital? People who didn’t get to say goodbye to their loved ones? It hurt to think about all the people who were suffering from the effects of the pandemic, whether it be direct or indirect.

He realized that while lost in his upsetting thoughts he’d started biting his nails. It was a nervous habit he’d always had, but it had grown worse since he stopped smoking. Filled with horror at the thought, Roger gathered up spit in his mouth and rolled the window down before purging the saliva and along with it imaginary bacteria. In reality he knew it was a useless action, spitting wouldn’t get rid of whatever pathogens he’d just invited into his body, but it was something that would make him feel a little less panicked for a moment. Just long enough to finish the drive home.

His mind raced as he considered just how many things he had touched, just how many times he’d brushed against something. Sure, the cart handle had been wiped down but what about the basket? What about all his items that had been touched by other customers and that had touched the unclean basket? He thought of his clothes and how many times he’d brushed against a shelf, or rubbed his hands on his jeans. And the air, oh God the air. The image in his head of an ungodly amount of different bacteria floating around in the air of the grocery store had him feeling physically ill. He gagged as he thought of his phone and wallet in his back pockets. How much had they picked up from this short outing? Oh God, he had to get clean. Had to decontaminate. Now.

Roger rushed in the door with the groceries, his skin crawling and stomach churning as he set the bags on the floor and immediately turned to the sink. He flipped the water on hot and squirted dish soap onto his hands. He immediately lathered up and started scrubbing all the way up to his elbows as though he were scrubbing out of a Dental school lab. He felt sick to his stomach.

After scrubbing for nearly a solid minute he rinsed in the too hot water and dried his arms on the dish towel, feeling only slightly better from the cleansing sting of the water.

As he began to shove the groceries into the cabinets, his heart rate began to climb again. He was thinking of all the germs that were coming back onto his hands as he touched the items, and he sped up his work, determined to finish so he could focus on decontaminating himself.

John joined him in the kitchen, having heard him come in and eyed him suspiciously as he helped put the food away. The bassist didn’t miss the slow, purposeful way the drummer was cycling air in through his nose and out through his mouth, or the rushed way he was putting things away: telltale signs of anxiety.

As Roger put the last box of cereal in the cabinet he could feel bile rising in his throat— he had to get clean. Without a sideways glance at John he bolted down the hall to the bathroom. He barely even had time to throw the toilet lid up before emptying the scarce contents of his stomach into the bowl. He groaned, his hands shaking as he held them away from his body. He couldn’t even wipe his face. They were too dirty. Holding his head over the toilet bowl he let out a pathetic whine, hoping someone would hear and come to the rescue.

“Rog!” Freddie appeared in the doorway, John peering over his shoulder as they took in the scene before them. Freddie advanced into the tiny bathroom, kneeling at the blond’s side.

“Oh darling, what on Earth?!”

His breath shaking and his voice barely a squawk, Roger choked out “P-panic attack, F-fred.” He considered himself lucky that he could identify what was going on when he was feeling this way.

“Shit.” The singer ripped off a bit of toilet paper from the roll and waited for Roger to spit one more time before gently wiping his mouth. He slowly placed his hand on the drummer’s shoulder and eased him back to lean on the wall. “You’re alright, love. Did that make you feel better?”

“N-no.” Roger stuttered, “I wanna shower.”

Freddie nodded, “alright. Do you need help? I’ll fetch you a towel.”

“Can you… can you turn it on for me? And— and can you clean my phone and wallet? I’m sorry, Fred I know it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s alright, love.” Freddie soothed, gently patting Roger’s hip so that he would lift himself and allow Freddie to take the items out of his pockets. Fred passed them to John before leaning over and flipping the shower on. “I’ll leave you to it if you’re okay?”

“Getting there.” Roger croaked in response, sitting up so he could pull his shirt off.

“Okay. I’ll go get that towel and have a word with John, okay? We’ll use a Clorox wipe on your things. Sound good?”

Roger nodded weakly, “oh, and Fred? Can you wash your hands? Before touching the towel, I mean. You touched my phone.”

“I will love, don’t worry.”

Roger gave a nervous, watery smile before getting to his feet so he could shove down his trousers. He kicked them into a corner, far away from him, and stepped into the shower, relaxing slightly as the hot spray soaked into his hair and ran down his shoulders.

Freddie left the bathroom door open in case the blond should need to call for anything while he was gone and hurried after John into the kitchen where the bassist was already wiping down the phone and wallet.

“Well that was quite unexpected.” Freddie sighed, coming to lean on the counter beside John.

“I shouldn’t have let him go in my place. I didn’t even think.” John mumbled, setting Roger’s items aside. He had filled Freddie and Brian in on where the blond had gone when they’d woken up. “I didn’t even take his feelings into consideration. I thought he’d be okay.”

“He probably thought he would be too. You know how that kind of thing works, mate. Especially with Rog. It sneaks up on him.”

“I feel bad.” John choked, turning his sad, gray eyes to the singer. “I was freaking out, I didn’t want to go, and now he’s panicking over the very same shit because he didn’t stop to think of himself. I feel horrible.”

Freddie frowned as he searched those deep gray eyes. “Darling the two of you are just anxious little balls of worry, aren’t you? It’s not your fault, and it’s not his either. It just happens.”

John cast his gaze down to the counter, guilt still written all over his face.

“Alright,” Freddie clapped to signify the end of the conversation. “You take care of his things and I’ll go get the poor chap a warm towel.”

The singer proceeded to wash his own hands in the sink as Roger had requested, and then padded back down the hall to fetch a towel from the linen closet. They were lucky enough to have a stacked washer and dryer combo in their linen closet, and Freddie tossed the towel into the dryer for a few minutes to warm it up a bit. Once it was warm, he folded it neatly and set it on the toilet lid in the steamy bathroom, glad to find that he could hear Roger rinsing his hair. The drummer seemed alright, at least for the moment.

With a heavy sigh, Freddie shrugged to himself and left the bathroom to retreat into his and Roger’s bedroom. There, he would wait for the drummer and then they would have a serious talk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was almost 3.7k words so I figured I'd call it a day and finish this plot line off in the next chapter. Don’t worry, there will be a conversation next, and all the boys will be in the next chapter (sorry about that, Bri). I'm wrapping this up a lot faster than I intended, so comment what you have enjoyed and what you'd like to see more of!


	7. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short, but I hope the softness makes up for that.
> 
> TW: Prescription drug use (pill)

Roger loved showers. They could be refreshing or soothing, they were guaranteed alone time, they were healthy, and just generally made him feel better no matter when he took one. His bandmates teased him on occasion because he showered quite often, usually at least twice a day. Standing under the hot spray and letting it soak into his skin and warm his soul was probably one of the only heathy coping mechanisms he really had. Showers were almost like an automatic reset for him, always there for him to take a moment to himself to relax and gather his thoughts and feelings. 

He ran his washrag over every inch of his body, relishing in the exfoliating feeling of the cloth scrubbing over his skin, left tender from the too-hot water. The feeling was grounding, reassuring, and he felt his mind begin to calm as his body relaxed. He was clean now. He would be alright. 

Though his panic attack seemed to be over, the steam gathering in the shower was beginning to become overwhelming, so Roger forced himself to come back to the real world. He blinked hard and shook his head to refocus before switching off the water and tearing open the curtain to take a deep, relieving breath of cool air. 

After squeezing out his hair and toweling off Roger wrapped the towel around his hips and tiptoed quickly out of the bathroom and down the hall into his room. He headed straight over to his chest of drawers, choosing not to acknowledge that Freddie was lying on his bed scrolling through his phone. He’d leave conversation starters to the singer, he just didn’t have the energy. 

Roger dressed in plaid pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt before wrapping his hair up in the towel. He was going to go straight to his bed to hide away but Freddie sat up before he could make it. 

“How are you feeling, lovie?” The singer probed, sitting up against the headboard and putting his phone down so he could search the drummer’s expression.

“A bit better. I’m knackered.” He perched on the edge of his bed and tried to look aloof as he stared over at the singer, drumming his fingers on his leg anxiously. 

“That was a bit frightening, hmm? Hasn’t happened in a while.”

“No it hasn’t.” Roger admitted, looking at his lap as he tried to keep his breathing in check. He wasn’t going to let himself spiral again. “Caught me off guard.”

“Do you think maybe you should take a Xanax?” 

Roger’s bright blue eyes snapped up to meet Freddie’s once more as hurt flashed across his expression. “But I haven’t had to take it in ages…” His voice was a childlike whine, protesting. 

“I know, lovie and I know you’re proud of that but we both know it’ll help you. You don’t have to, but I just think maybe you should.”

Roger downcast his eyes once more, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he mulled over the idea of taking a drug he hadn’t needed since he quit dental school. He had it prescribed and knew it helped him, but he was proud that he hadn’t had to rely on it for so long. On the other hand the panic attack had blindsided him and he still felt very off. The Xanax would certainly help him to calm down. 

“Alright, Fred. I’ll take it.” He stood and started digging through his nightstand until he found the little orange pill bottle pushed to the very back. 

“Take a whole one, love, no one’s judging you.” Freddie cooed as he watched the drummer shake a bar out of the bottle and into the palm of his hand. He was a bit concerned that Roger hadn’t protested more. The boy could be stubborn as a mule, so the fact that he’d given in so easily only let the singer know that he had to still be feeling very off.

Roger dumped the pill into his mouth and took a swig of last night’s cup of water that still sat on his nightstand, wincing at the bitter taste on the back of his tongue before it washed away. Knowing it wouldn’t kick in for a few minutes he busied himself toweling off his hair and running a brush through it. He loved the feeling of having clean, buttery smooth hair and sometimes just running his own finger through it did wonders to calm him down. The blond shook his head to fluff up the damp mop and turned to Freddie expectantly.

The singer patted the bed beside him, trying to coax the drummer over, and smiled sweetly. “Come here, darling. Let me hold you.”

A small frown pulled at the corner of Roger’s lips and he slunk over to the singer’s bed, crawling onto it and snuggling against Freddie’s side. The warmth of his best friend washed over him and he let himself relax against him, resting his head on his shoulder as the singer’s arm wound around his shoulders, surrounding him in warmth and his familiar scent. 

“I’m sorry I scared you, Fred.” Roger mumbled, his head turned so his voice was muffled in the fabric of the singer’s shirt. 

“Don’t apologize, dear, there’s been too much of that lately. You and Deaky— and Bri for that matter, all of you take on things that weren’t your fault. You need to quit it.” 

“Did I hear my name?”

Freddie and Roger both jumped before they noticed John loitering in the doorway. Fred smiled and beckoned for the bassist to join. John immediately shuffled over and perched on the end of the bed, smiling softly at the adorable sight of his bandmates curled up together. 

“What are the two of you gossiping about?” He teased, poking playfully at Roger’s feet. 

The drummer jumped and folded his legs under him like an annoyed cat and stuck out his tongue playfully. “Freddie’s trying to scold us for being good people.” 

“Oh is he now?” Deaky theatrically raised his brow at the singer before chuckling to dismiss the topic. “Hope I’m not interrupting, I just wanted company.” He sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on Freddie’s duvet. 

“You’re always welcome in here, John.” Freddie hummed. “What would you like to talk about? I’d offer a board game but I’m afraid poor Roggie here is a bit drugged. We may lose him soon.”

“Hey! I’m fine!” Roger protested, sitting up, though a sleepy yawn followed his sentence. He begrudgingly returned to the warmth of Freddie, pulling a throw blanket over himself as he shot a withering glare at the singer. 

“I’ll give him 20 minutes.” Freddie teased, playfully ruffling the blond hair before leaving him be and turning back to Deaky. 

Just then Brian strode right in, a peaceful grin on his face. He’d been doing quite a bit better lately, and no one wanted to question him lest they call attention to the mood shift and ruin it. “‘Ello, loves. How you feeling there, Roggie?”

“Ugh. So you heard?” Roger groaned, hiding his face in the blanket in embarrassment. Bri hadn’t been present for the drummer’s grand return to the flat, and Roger hoped he hadn’t noticed that he’d had a panic attack. The drummer thrived on attention, but not for something like that.

“Hard not to, mate.” Brian joined Deaky at the end of the bed and patted Roger’s knee in support. “It’s alright. If I can have my mental breakdowns you can too.”

Roger frowned slightly at the guitarist but Didn’t comment on his dark remark. “I’m alright, Bri. A bit fuzzy-headed still, but I’m good.”

Freddie shifted uncomfortably beside Rog. “Darlings, I love you all dearly, you know, but four grown men is a little much for a twin-sized bed, don’t you agree?”

“No!” Roger gasped, feigning offense. “You know you love it, Fred. You’re the perfect body pillow!” The blond threw a leg over the singer’s lap and an arm across his chest, effectively pulling him into a koala hug and trapping him in place against the wall. “Come on, lads! Help me prove four of us can fit!” 

Brian laughed and shook his head, curls bouncing as he clambered up beside Roger and rolled into the sliver of space between the drummer and the edge of the bed. Deaky snickered and climbed onto all of their legs, squishing all of them beneath his weight but putting most of it on Freddie’s lap and Roger’s thigh. 

“Deaks, get the laptop,” Roger hummed, a lazy smile growing on his sleepy face as he snuggled between Freddie and Brian. “Ahh, pressure therapy. This is cozy.”

“If you’re a bloody sardine.” Freddie sassed under his breath. He was well and truly squished: most of his body falling into the crack between the mattress and the wall, Roger basically on top of and partially squeezed between both him and Brian. On the other side of Roger Brian’s entire asscheek hung off the edge of the bed, but anchored by the drummer snuggled onto his shoulder and the bassist pinning down his legs he was able to stay balanced with minimal effort. 

John smiled fondly as he glanced over at his bandmates, settling atop of them with Roger’s laptop. He pulled up YouTube: “What shall it be today, then?”

“Social experiments!”  
“Weird nature facts!”  
“Cats!”

John rolled his eyes and clicked on his favorite true crime channel. Surprisingly, no one complained. He laid himself back so that his head rested on Roger’s thigh which was over Freddie’s hips, and angled himself so that everyone could see the screen. 

Roger, ever the fidgeter was still for once in his life, growing hazier by the second from the effects of taking a whole xanax. Freddie, though annoyed by being squished, continued dutifully petting back the soft blond hair; and Brian looped an arm under the throw blanket and laid it along the drummer’s, rubbing soothing circles into the warm skin of his wrist.

If Roger’s love language was touch, they would give him touch. 

Soon the sound of Roger’s slow, deep breathing signaled to the others that he was finally asleep. Freddie didn’t stop petting and Brian didn’t stop soothing. All of them quietly cooed and swooned at how adorable Roger looked, fast asleep and snuggled between his bandmates. It wasn’t unusual for anyone to contemplate how unfairly beautiful that boy was with his thick, dark eyelashes fanned out over his soft, rosy cheeks. The sweet little twitch of his lips as he dreamed nearly melted Freddie’s heart as he mentally compared the blond to a small kitten. Roger could be a right git, but in moments like these where he was completely exhausted and only in need of some affection none of them would trade him for the world. All four of them rested easy knowing they would walk through fire for one another. 

This was one of those special moments: sweet and treasured. Where nothing going on around them mattered because they had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. That's it for now. I'm leaving this incomplete because I would like to write a chapter for after this pandemic is a thing of the past. Of course if I feel inspired to write another chapter I am completely open to adding more, but for now, it'll be on hiatus. 
> 
> I have really really enjoyed writing this one and I am so thankful that so many people have been following its progress. Thank you so much for continued support and encouragement, and please please please let me know what you thought of it all. If anyone has other quarantine topics they'd like to see covered in this fic I would gladly add more chapters. It's probably my favorite fic I've ever written so continuing would be wonderful. Drop a comment and let me know. I love you all <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts! Motivate me to keep writing!


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